The Wistful Ashes
The train hisses. You step off. The air is cold. It bites. You shiver. You pull your coat tighter. The fabric is thin. It offers little warmth. You are cold. You are always cold. The station is empty. The lights are flickering. They buzz. They hum. They sound like dying insects. You look around. You see the platform. You see the tracks. You see the fog. The fog eats the distance. It swallows...
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